


I Slithered Here from Eden (Just to Hide Outside Your Door)

by casuallyneurotic



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), Friends to Lovers, Gardener Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), Wingfic, cottage life, crowley feels unworthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyneurotic/pseuds/casuallyneurotic
Summary: A glimpse at the ever-evolving relationship between our two favorite idiots, through the lense of Crowley's various transformations into his scalier corporation. This fic spans the time just before Warlock and a little after the apoco-wasn't.





	1. Chapter 1

When Aziraphale finally got around to answering the persistent banging on the door, he was more than a little shocked to see his demon counterpart. 

He’d been in the upper floor of the bookshop enjoying a nice pastry from the local bakery when he’d been so rudely disturbed and he’d had to set it down unfinished. He hadn’t at all assumed it would be Crowley who was making such a racket – after all, he hadn’t seen the demon in quite some time Not since he’d given him the holy water, in fact. So when he opened the door, his expression wasn’t exactly angelic. 

That melted away into a smile as soon as he realized who he was looking at. “Crowley! Come in, come in.” The demon, who had previously been glaring at him from under the porchlight, water dripping from every inch of him, his little round glasses fogged up from the moisture, inched forward. 

He ushered him inside and Crowley moved past him stiffly, his eyes flicking around the shop in a paranoid sort of way. Arms wrapped around himself, water dripping from his black clothes, Crowley rather resembled a drowned crow. He didn’t appear to have an umbrella at all. 

“Dear boy, wouldn’t a small miracle be appropriate to dry yourself?” he asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow at a stack of books that was precariously close to the puddle the demon was creating. 

Crowley scoffed at him, shaking his head. “Can’t.”

“What do you mean, _can’t_?”

Crowley avoided his gaze, shifting back and forth between his feet a few times. He shivered, and Aziraphale felt his irritation fade, replaced by worry. “Are you... alright?”

“‘Course I’m alright,” the demon snapped, fixing the angel with a glare. His words were rather less convincing when he shuddered again, hands tightening into fists. He hadn’t moved from his spot in the front entrance. 

Aziraphale bit his lip and glanced up in spite of himself. For the most part, upstairs didn’t much care what he did with his personal miracles as long as they were minor. Drying wet clothes in a storm like this wouldn’t show up as an anomaly, surely? And he knew how much Crowley hated being wet like this. He shook his head and reached out to tap Crowley on the shoulder lightly, and the demon was instantly dry. His shoulder-length hair poofed a bit.

Shoulders slumping in relief and glare fading to something akin to weary gratitude, he rubbed a hand over his face. “...‘Preciate it.”

Aziraphale was left blinking at the uncharacteristic gratitude as Crowley found a seat on his couch. Truly, the sofa was more Crowley’s than his – he himself hardly ever sat on it. It was typically the demon’s, and tonight was no exception. Aziraphale would never admit that he kept it around just for him, for the few occasions that Crowley graced him with his company.

The demon in question leaned his head back and closed his eyes, just visible over the rim of his sunglasses. A long sigh slipped from his lips. 

“Why can’t you do miracles, Crowley?” Aziraphale pushed, unwilling to let that go. It was unheard of for occult or celestial beings to _lose _their powers, so why...?

But Crowley didn’t seem interested in answering him. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room, nervously tapped his fingers on the sofa. “I need wine, Angel.”

With as tense as the demon was Aziraphale was quite happy to oblige, and they found themselves halfway through the bottle in no time at all. Aziraphale talked, mostly, filling Crowley in on his comings and goings for the past few months. All the while, the demon nodded with distracted eyes, his shoulders cinched together tightly like he was waiting for a blow. The angel danced around the subject for as long as he could, but eventually, he ran out of things to talk about.

“Crowley, _what _is the matter?” Aziraphale finally asked, liquid courage making him feel a little less tense. “You show up… months, it's been! And what do you do? You turn up _soaked_ to the bone, jumpy as anything. And frankly, dear, you aren’t being very good company, right this moment. I’ve been carrying on all on my own for some time.”

The wine seemed to have loosened Crowley’s tongue as well, because he made a low, frustrated noise. His stiff paranoia had faded into something closer to hysterical resignation. “I think… mm. I think I mighta been spotted. I was doin’ something Hell wouldn’t like.” He laughed suddenly, a loud bark, gesturing widely with his half-full wine glass. “And if I get another reprimand I’ll –” he burped, tapping his chest. “I dunno. Won’t be good, will it?”

Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion that a _reprimand_ from hell was not precisely the same as a notice of complaint from heaven, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the demon. No wonder he looked so jumpy. “Whatever did you do?”

Crowley groaned. “I was a right idiot, Angel. This – this little human _spawn’s_ runnin’ about, playin’ in the rain, yeah? And she drops her little – I dunno what the humans _bloody_ call it. Some sort of putrid little toy, and it rolls into the street. Right into the street! No sense of hand-eye coordination in these beasts at all, I tell you!”

The demon was throwing his hands about wildly, arms akimbo. Most of the wine left in his glass splashed out of the cup and Aziraphale miracled it away before it could stain the couch. “And _then_. Then the little shite-”

“_Crowley_.”

“Oh, alright then, the bloody little _cherub _just runs right out there. _Right_ into the road, no sense at all. And what was I supposed to do? Eh? Let the little bugger get smashed right there? Get her human squishy bits all…” he shuddered, “... all over me?”

Something warm bloomed in the angel’s chest. Crowley, for all his hissing and posturing disdain, had always had a soft spot for children. He’d known that since the ark. “No, I suppose you couldn’t have,” he replied gently. 

“No! No, _couldn’t_ have,” he repeated, hiccupping. He fell back onto the couch dramatically. “So I yank her outta the road before the lorry hits- and _then! _Her mother, the right _bat, _suddenly she’s got her eyes back in her blessed head and remembers she’s got spawn to be watching, and she _thanks _me. Thanks _me! _Makes a downright _scene!”_

He gagged, as though he couldn’t imagine anything worse. “And – not sure, mind you, but these things – you just _feel_ them, sometimes – anyway, I think Hastur might be followin’ me, ever since that wee incident with the –” He stopped talking as if he couldn’t dredge up the energy to discuss that particular event. Aziraphale could think of any number of things that Crowley had done that hell wouldn’t approve of. “_Anyway, _if he is, if he _saw me. _I don’t know how the devil’m gonna spin this –”

He quieted, rubbing his face like a child might when they were tired. His enthusiasm faded and Aziraphale could see the lines of worry on his face. “So’m layin’ low. For a bit.”

“My dear, I’m sure it’s nothing. Perhaps your mind was just playing tricks-?”

Before he could finish the suggestion, a flash of light followed immediately by a clash of thunder filled the bookshop, casting them both in sharp relief against the bookshelves. With a strangled yelp, Crowley vanished. 

Aziraphale blinked, looking around the shop. First Crowley couldn’t do a simple miracle to dry himself, and now he was teleporting? _Honestly_. But when he glared at the couch where the demon had been, he sucked in a sharp breath. 

It’d been ages since he’d seen Crowley’s snake form. Every time since the garden had been by accident, flashes of scales that were gone as soon as they’d appeared, but now he could see the serpent in great detail. He was curled up, a great black and red tail tightening around a ball of muscle and scales. 

And just as quickly, Crowley was back in his human form, looking harried and then downright mortified as he stared at Aziraphale, his face burning red. He stood abruptly from the couch, hands clenched at his sides. 

Sensing now was not the time to be drunk, Aziraphale quietly began to refill the wine bottles. For his part, Crowley seemed to have sobered up just from the fright. The cagey look was back, his legs twitching like he wanted to bolt. He shuddered, mouth opening and then closing. 

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen your snake form, Crowley,” Aziraphale finally said, breaking the silence. He made sure to keep the shock from his voice. Crowley was heaving, his eyes wide as he looked at the angel, something fragile there. “Did the thunder startle you?”

“No,” the demon snapped immediately, then, “Yes. It’s – a reaction. _Stupid_.”

He sounded angry, but Aziraphale had known him long enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the fear of judgment that lingered on his face just a split second too long. “I’d forgotten just how fearsome you look as a serpent. Quite impressive.”

Crowley, if possible, reddened even further, looking very much as though he’d like to fall through the floor. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times before he turned about abruptly and strode toward the exit. He muttered something about needing to be somewhere and was halfway out the door before Aziraphale thought to try and stop him. 

“Oh – Crowley, wait!” he insisted, standing up in a hurry. The demon froze in the doorway, the rain lashing against the sidewalk in front of him. The last thing Aziraphale wanted was for the demon to disappear for another half a year, and he suspected he would if he let him go now. “You shouldn’t leave, not in this weather.”

“Bugger off.” The words snapped against him, cold. Aziraphale wasn’t fooled. 

Tentatively, he reached out and placed a hand on the demon’s shoulder. Though he’d been gentle, Crowley still jumped a mile, his neck craning so he could look down at Aziraphale. “Please,” he said carefully. “I’d feel much better if you didn’t go out there in all that.”

Crowley’s eyes were unreadable behind his glasses, as usual, but because he was touching the demon he felt him slump. “I shouldn’t have come here at all,” he said quietly, mouth trembling faintly. “If Hastur –”

“I’m not afraid of Hastur,” Aziraphale said shortly. “He won’t touch me, not without some serious provocation. There would be consequences.”

Crowley didn’t seem to be so sure of that, but he swallowed and stepped back from the door. Aziraphale waited patiently for him to speak. 

“Just till the storm passes, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale had done a remarkable job of not bringing up his embarrassing little slip up thus far. 

He’d spent the night at the bookshop that evening, curled up on the couch as Aziraphale puttered around, his stomach too knotted for him to find sleep. He’d been so embarrassed at his spontaneous transformation that he’d left early the next morning and hadn’t returned for close to a fortnight, convinced that Aziraphale wouldn’t want to see him.

After all, he was a demon. A dirty, small thing. Something so far removed from Aziraphale’s grace that it made him choke on self-hatred when he thought about it too hard. And, of course, the angel might have forgotten just how low to the ground that Crowley was – right up until he reminded him with that stupid little bit of theatrics. 

When he’d finally drawn up the courage to return, however, he’d found that little had changed. Aziraphale had treated him much the same as he always had – as a friend, as good company. And Crowley couldn’t quite convince himself to stay away from it, as much as he knew he didn’t deserve it. Aziraphale had been the first person to be kind to him in years, that evening in the garden, and he was still Crowley’s only friend. 

And so he couldn’t stay away for long. He craved the angel’s company. And Aziraphale always made him feel welcome – something he couldn’t get enough of, if he was honest with himself (though he hardly ever was). So with fear in his heart, he’d gone to the bookshop, half expecting the angel to do that blustering little excuse routine that he’d all but abandoned somewhere around the end of the first millennium. But he hadn’t – he’d just smiled and welcomed him in with a smile, as usual. 

Things _had_ changed a smidge, though. Crowley couldn’t quite put a name to it, but there was a lingering feeling of _something _that made him glance around the bookshop a bit more carefully when he came ‘round for drinks or dinner. And it was during one of these sessions of curiously stalking around that he found the source of his discomfort. 

The sound of Aziraphale bustling around in the kitchen faded to the background as he snooped. Next to the angel’s armchair was a stack of books that looked much like any other in the shop – worn, old, and well-loved. Crowley knew that the angel liked to stockpile that spot with whatever he was reading currently, and normally he didn’t pay them much mind. But these books in particular caught his eye because of their subject matter. 

He picked up the top one, hardly daring to touch it lest Aziraphale figure out he had. _Snake Husbandry, _the title said. More than a little alarming – was the angel trying to start up a side business? He set it down gently, picking up the next one. It was part of a set of Victorian encyclopedias on animals – this one, in particular, was entitled _Reptiles. _Several sections had been bookmarked, and with hands that were absolutely _not _trembling, he thumbed through the pages until he found the small bits of ribbon. 

Snakes. All of them. He felt something do a little flip in his stomach as he looked down at the illustration of some sort of nasty looking viper. What was the angel _doing?_

“Doing some reading, dear?”

If he’d had his wings out, he would have flown through the roof. As it was, he simply dropped the book with an unsubtle _thunk _as if it had burned his hand and whirled around, face reddening. “Ngk- _no_. When have you known me to _read?”_

Aziraphale’s little smile told him he wasn’t really fooled, but he didn’t press it. “Oh. Alright. If you ever _were_ interested, I’ve got plenty to choose from.” He gestured to the numerous shelves, a small smirk on his mouth. 

Crowley swallowed, eyes flicking back down to the stack of books. 

>><< 

_Serpents in Literature. Snakes and Healing. The Symbolism of the Snake. _Something in the back of his throat kept trying to escape as he found more and more of the books scattered around during the following week. It got to the point where there seemed to be no other subject out for reading – the only books that were down from the shelves had something to do with the little scaled beasts. 

He wasn’t quite sure how that made him feel. Was Aziraphale making fun of him?

“Angel?”

He finally held up one of the books precariously stacked next to his spot on the couch – _Patterns in Serpentine Behavior – _ hating himself for giving in to his curiosity. He had to know what Aziraphale was playing at. “What’s with all this... slithery nonsense?”

The angel’s small smile curled into a bigger one as if he had been waiting for Crowley to notice and ask. “Ah, well. Such fascinating creatures, aren’t they? So well evolved for their purposes.”

Crowley was glad he was wearing his sunglasses. This way, Aziraphale couldn’t see the way he winced. “Er. Right.” He set the book down gently, resisting the urge to fling it. “.... Crawling.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, moving forward to hand Crowley his tea – the demon’s hands wrapped around it automatically. “No, Crowley. Not _crawling,_” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Snakes are rather extraordinary. No limbs, yet extremely fast and agile. Able to tackle and best things much larger than themselves. Beautiful, too,” he finished, staring firmly down at Crowley’s hands. It was only then that the demon realized that Aziraphale was still touching the cup – their fingers brushed together. 

Crowley closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look. If he didn’t look, maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t pull away. He couldn’t even be subtle about his insecurity, though he tried to grab back the words as he said them. “But they aren’t, not really. Don’t you think there’s a reason that it’s only _demons _with snake forms? Right along with toads and flies and… and _roaches._” His voice was coming out a lot less angry than he’d hoped, skirting dangerously close to stricken. The snake form hadn’t been a blessing, after all. He didn’t remember his angelic name, but to be dubbed _Crawly _from the very start of his demonic life… 

No, it didn’t feel much like beauty. It felt like the ultimate slap to the face – to be bound to the ground, belly in the dirt, when he’d been the one to help build the stars? How could that be anything but punishment? Anything but a reminder that he was nothing but _sin_?

He supposed he’d been lucky to keep his wings, broken as they’d been.

But Aziraphale shook his head. “I think they’re fascinating. Powerful, and lovely, just as all of God’s creatures are. Perhaps... more so, even, because of all the adversity they face.”

And Crowley looked up at his soft blue eyes because this was probably the closest Aziraphale had come to picking favorites. He wasn’t supposed to, as an angel. Something warmed in him. “Even with so much stacked against them,” Aziraphale continued slowly, still touching Crowley’s hands, “they are still strong and fierce and unbeaten.”

And then Crowley couldn’t quite hold in the trembling thing inside himself, so he stepped away. Any more contact with the angel and he might catch flame. Aziraphale’s hands dropped to his sides gently. “Anyway,” he said, his plump mouth twisting a bit, “I was just doing some research. Not a lot of live subjects to study around here, unfortunately. The zoo was rather disappointing.”

“Would you –” Crowley cut himself off. _Stupid_. Why would Aziraphale want to see him like _that_? He worked hard to keep his corporation presentable and alluring – he had to tempt, after all. His snake body was anything but tempting. 

But the angel perked up, his eyes bright. “Would I what, dear boy?”

“Er – just for research purposes, you understand. If you’re so bloody bent on learning about the things. I could – um –”

Aziraphale leaned forward, and if Crowley didn’t know better he’d think that his angel’s face looked… eager. 

“Please.”

The simple word was enough, because when had Crowley ever denied his angel anything? He let loose a long breath, unclenched his fists, and looked Aziraphale in the eye. Then he was looking at him from quite a bit lower. 

The angel absolutely squealed, a smile lighting his face bright enough that Crowley had to squint. He resisted the urge to jerk away as Aziraphale came closer, the vibrations from his steps traveling from his belly scales to his spine. Rather than lord over his corporation, though, Aziraphale sat on the ground in front of him with his legs crossed, a childish expression of glee making his cheeks rosy. 

Crowley tasted the air in spite of himself, savoring the angel’s sweetbread and parchment scent. He could smell it when he was more human, of course, but it was different when he was a serpent. Stronger. Less filtered. It always reminded him of the garden, when he’d scented the air and looked up the imposing wall to see the angel for the first time.

And then Aziraphale was reaching out and Crowley jerked backward in spite of himself, rearing up till he was at eye level. He took the hint, drawing his hand back slowly and looking chastised. “Sorry, dear boy. I got ahead of myself in my excitement. Would you mind?”

It was clear what he was asking, and Crowley couldn’t very well tell him _no, _despite his common sense telling him he should_; _he’d be kicking himself for decades if he missed this chance. So, slowly, he lowered his head and curved until a few of his coils were close enough for the angel to touch. 

And touch he did. His soft hand slid down the demon’s back, feather-light, and Crowley closed his eyes. If he’d have been human they would have watered, much as he loathed to admit that. That’s how pathetically good it felt to be blessed by his angel’s hands. He tucked his head into his belly, somehow sure that Aziraphale would be able to tell he was blushing even with no red cheeks for evidence. 

“Amazing,” the angel breathed, and it sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine because he’d never heard Aziraphale use that tone for anything but his books or a good bit of food. In other words, things he lo-

He cut that off quickly. Aziraphale _liked_ many things. Was _fascinated_ by many things – he was more curious than the other angels, which was one of the reasons why Crowley enjoyed his company. He wasn’t going to get ahead of himself. 

But Aziraphale wasn’t really helping – his hand inched closer and closer to the base of Crowley's neck with every stroke, movements growing more sure as he did. He smiled down at Crowley when the demon dared to look up, and if he hadn’t already been a snake the look might have been enough to turn him into one. 

“Would you mind terribly if we moved to the couch?”

He shook his head, not quite ready to speak in his hissing, rasping way, and before he could start to move that way Aziraphale had already scooped him up. He flailed, for a moment, before he found purchase on the angel’s arms and shoulders, huffing at the indignity even as his more reptilian brain relished the warmth the angel was putting off. 

“I have you, Crowley, don’t worry,” Aziraphale said with a calm surety, and somehow the demon didn’t think he was only talking about now.

Curiously enough, Aziraphale didn’t really seem keen on _researching _much of anything. Rather than poke and prod and _inspect_ as he should have been doing, he simply picked up a book in one hand and laid Crowley across his lap, letting the other hand trail down his spine over and over. At first, the sensation was overwhelming – he couldn’t remember a time where Aziraphale had touched him this much. But soon, it became soothing, and he wasn’t sure if that was Aziraphale’s angelic presence or just the angel himself.

The angel continued steadily until the demon had nearly fallen asleep. At some point, the tense worry that Aziraphale would suddenly realize he was petting a _demon _faded to the background, and Crowley was able to just… luxuriate. 

“You really are impressive like this, Crowley,” the angel murmured, turning a page and then smoothly moving back to continue his petting. “I wish you believed that.”

His throat felt thick. Rather than say anything, he curled his head slightly until it rested on the angel’s knee, his tongue flicking out a few times despite his firm wish for it not to. From this close, Aziraphale’s scent was almost overwhelming. 

“I hope,” Aziraphale said delicately, hand slowing a bit, “that you don’t think this odd. But – er,” he hesitated. “It’s rather… flattering. That you’re comfortable enough to do this here. Thank you.”

Crowley shook his grogginess away, staring up at the angel’s eyes in surprise. Aziraphale blushed and looked away. “It’s just – well. It makes me feel very trusted.”

And then Crowley was back in his humanoid form, and he’d quite forgotten himself because of course he manifested mostly in the angel’s lap. He scrambled back, straightening his shirt and pretending that he wasn’t blushing furiously. 

When he found the courage to look up at the angel, he looked disappointed. And that speared Crowley right through the chest, because Aziraphale probably thought that Crowley was taking back that trust, and that wasn’t it at all. He _hated_ disappointing him.

“I thought-” he cut himself off and took a moment, aware that he would start hissing if he wasn’t careful, “I thought you’d, er. Find me a little… off-putting. Like that. So. Thanksss for – um. Not.” He was glad he’d thought to miracle his sunglasses back on. They worked with his long red hair to hide his face from Aziraphale’s eyes.

The angel’s face softened. “I would never be afraid of you, Crowley.”

And damn if Aziraphale hadn’t cut right to the quick of the problem. Crowley swallowed, looked down at his hands. He knew what he was. What he was meant to do. And to hear the angel say that he wasn’t… wasn’t _scary, _was something worth being around…

But he pushed all that to the side. “And of course I trust you, Angel. Why wouldn’t I? Your lot are supposed to be trustworthy by nature, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale’s small, twisted smile told him he wasn’t quite fooled – they both knew, at this point, how untrustworthy heaven could be (though Aziraphale still refused to admit it). “All the same. I appreciate it, dear.”

Crowley, in spite of himself, smiled a little in the dim light of the bookshop. If he couldn’t give Aziraphale what he really wanted to give him, he could at least give him that. He leaned back on the couch and snapped his fingers and was suddenly holding a glass full of wine. 

“Come on, Angel. Regale me with all your serpentine fun facts, why don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love when Aziraphale is sneaky! Crowley just wants to be loved TT-TT


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale had spent the morning puttering around the bookshop, enjoying the luxury of air conditioning in the unseasonable heatwave. Customers had not bothered him much today – the only people who’d appeared in the shop were seeking a moment of refuge from the oppressive weather, and Aziraphale was happy to oblige (so long as they didn’t attempt to purchase anything). 

Being an angel, Aziraphale wasn’t much affected by the climate. Usually, he could sternly remind his corporation to maintain its homeostasis through will alone, so he didn’t shiver or sweat as a human would. This day was a slight exception, it seemed – more than once he’d caught himself wiping sweat from his brow. 

Perhaps this disturbing anomaly was simply a result of him being distracted. On warm Sundays like this, Crowley loved to bother (read: bless) him with his company. As a serpent demon, Crowley was a little less apt at keeping his corporation’s temperature stabilized. Sunny days like this usually had him in good spirits, even if he tried to pretend his excess energy was simply chaotic in nature. 

But he hadn’t received a call from Crowley thus far. No invitation for breakfast or lunch, no needling for a picnic in the park or a long drive, no request for dinner at an outdoor cafe. Aziraphale had considered calling Crowley himself more than once, but he’d eventually decided against it on the grounds that if he looked too eager, Crowley would tease him for it. Not that he truly minded all that much. Perhaps it was more that Aziraphale felt himself to be boring company. Crowley undoubtedly had better things to do. They spent so much time together while caring for Warlock – perhaps the demon was growing tired of his company.

A short shriek nearly made him drop a book, and he blinked rapidly as he turned around. An older woman had jumped back from the window in alarm, a petrified look on her face. “Whatever is the matter?” Aziraphale asked pleasantly, doing a fairly good job of not letting the irritation at the near damage of his book bleed into his voice. 

But the woman simply glared at him, her fear transforming into disgust, and with a sniff and a flick of her hair, she turned to exit the shop. “You’ve just lost my business, sir!” she shouted, loud enough for people walking by to turn their heads curiously. “Honestly, vermin! Right there in the shop!”

Her complaints faded as she moved away from the doors, and with growing curiosity Aziraphale moved to the window. He was quite sure there were no rats or mice in his shop – they weren’t fond of Crowley’s general occult presence, for obvious reasons. He himself had blessed the building against bugs of all sorts to protect his collection. So what could the woman have seen?

His face broke into a wide grin as he peered over the row of books to investigate the windowsill. A long black and red serpent was curled tightly in the sunny spot of wood, scales glittering beautifully in the light. 

“Crowley! How long have you been there?”

The serpent opened one eye, evaluated him, and then tucked his head into his coils huffily. 

Oh. Aziraphale replayed the woman’s comments over in his mind. “Honestly, that woman was being ridiculous. To equate a majestic creature like you with a household pest! Absurd,” he said firmly. “I hope she never comes back.”

Crowley didn’t respond as he’d hoped. He simply coiled a bit tighter around himself, tail tucking up over his head. 

Aziraphale frowned. Over the last few years, Crowley had been growing more and more comfortable reverting to his snake form in the bookshop. These days, it wasn’t odd to find Crowley in the shop unannounced and curled around some part of his collection or another, when they weren’t busy with Warlock. It wouldn’t do to have that horrible woman ruin all his hard earned progress.

He reached down and deftly scooped the snake into his arms, ignoring the token hiss of protest. By now, he knew the demon didn’t really mind being carted from place to place when he was in this form. In fact, he was pretty sure that he enjoyed it. “Come now, Crowley. Humans are sadly misinformed on snakes, as you well know. Quite a sorry thing.”

As he spoke, he draped Crowley’s coils over his shoulders. The serpent shifted moodily and tucked himself around the angel’s neck, his snout landing just below Aziraphale’s chin. If he concentrated, he could hear Crowley’s even breathing. A part of him – a frighteningly large part – wished that Crowley could be this close to him when he _wasn’t _a snake. He pushed that thought aside with a well-practiced motion. He was already getting more time with Crowley, these days, than ever before – after all, they had godfather duties to occupy them. 

The fact that those days were nearly over, the child growing ever older, did nothing to settle his nerves. He supposed that if they’d failed, he wouldn’t worry about much of anything anymore.

He shook himself, returning to the task of cheering his friend up. “As I’m sure you remember, there were many cultures that revered the snake. Just think of Quetzalcoatl! A magnificent example of humans elevating the serpent to a deity.”

Crowley snorted ever so slightly. Aziraphale smiled, knowing he was being heard, at least. “You’d be shocked, my dear, at how many humans have re-educated themselves on the matter. Why, just the other day I was reading an article about how farmers are actually _releasing _snakes onto their property, for pest control! A far cry from the mindless fear of days past. I’m glad they seem to be coming back around.”

“_Ssshe called me vermin_,” Crowley hissed unhappily. 

Aziraphale was honestly relieved to hear him speaking at all, but he patted his friend reassuringly. “Well, she’s quite misinformed. You are quite the impressive specimen. Perhaps it was just the shock. After all, serpents of your size aren’t typically found hanging around bookshops.” This was true even though Crowley had shrunk himself down considerably in order to fit on the small nook. 

Crowley rewarded him with an airy chuckle, and Aziraphale relaxed. “Whatever were you doing, anyway? Usually you’d be dragging me to a park by now, on a day like this with both of us off duty.”

The demon sighed. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Didn’t want to be a bother,” and Aziraphale frowned. It was true that he gave Crowley gruff on days that were a bit too hot, but perhaps the serpent had taken his last complaints a little more seriously than he’d anticipated. Or perhaps he, too, was feeling the pressure of Warlock's impending birthday.

“A bother? Dear boy, of course that’s not a bother. I enjoy-.” His cheeks started to warm, and he smoothed his hands down his shirt in a flustered manner. “That – that is to say that, er. Well, you know what I mean.”

Crowley tucked himself a bit closer in a wordless acknowledgment, his tail flicking against Aziraphale’s shoulder in a hesitant way. He was used to this – these half-truths, this mediocre way in which Aziraphale acknowledged him. It was the way it was, unfortunately – it wouldn’t do to be caught fraternizing. The angels and demons both had been more active on earth lately, no doubt gearing up for Warlock’s coming of age. It was risky to continue to spend time with one another, even outside of the estate.

Still. The angel took a deep breath. Crowley deserved to hear more than a stuttering half-reassurance. 

“I mean to say that I enjoy your company always, Crowley,” he rushed out, his cheeks so hot they felt like they might catch flame. The snake around his shoulders stilled, and Aziraphale stood in the middle of his bookshop with something stuck in his throat. 

And then he blinked, and Crowley was back in his more humanoid corporation, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Aziraphale resisted the urge to look away from the scrutiny, instead meeting his friend’s gaze with a sense of bravado he didn’t really feel. 

“Alwaysss?” he asked, a hint of snake still lingering in his words. 

The angel cleared his throat. “Well – yes. Even when it _is_ hellishly hot outside.”

His demon grinned, and the way the sun hit his eyes was enough to make Aziraphale’s breath catch. “Don’t say that too loud, Angel. Your lot won’t like that.”

Aziraphale made an unsatisfied sort of noise, finally letting himself look away. “Yes, well, there’s a dreadful number of things my lot don’t approve of. What should we take on our picnic, do you think?”

>><< 

Aziraphale realized he was staring much too long after he’d begun. 

Crowley was spread out on their thick blanket in the park, his eyes closed and just visible behind his sunglasses. His serpentine body soaked up the light greedily, a small smile on his face as he basked. Long hair splayed out obscenely, just touching the grass, the verdant green against the fiery red – it was enough to make Aziraphale wish he could paint. Or that he had a camera, at least. 

Instead, all he had was his memory, and he refused to miss the opportunity to commit this moment to his mind. 

The sun was golden and just warm enough to be comfortable, the grass soft under their bodies, a grand old tree shading the place where the angel had sat, and Aziraphale had no idea what the book he’d been reading was about because he’d been too caught up getting slightly drunk and laughing with Crowley. The demon had fallen asleep almost an hour ago, now, and he hadn’t been able to turn a page. 

This was selfish. He knew that. He knew how dangerous it was, flaunting their friendship, their companionship like this. Anyone could see. The fact that they’d chosen a rather secluded part of the park, surrounded by shrubs and trees, didn’t matter to heaven or hell. If they were spotted…

Well. Aziraphale would probably get some sort of documented reprimand. A demotion, certainly. Perhaps he’d have to suffer through a few of heaven’s more painful trials – but ultimately, after he’d paid his dues, they would probably leave him be. 

Crowley would be _destroyed_. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, the sunlight warm and red through his eyelids. It was rather lucky that he had – if he’d still been distracted by Crowley, he might have missed the gathering of energy that signaled the arrival of another angel.

Oh, how funny and cruel the universe could be.

Faster than what most thought him capable, Aziraphale’s arm struck out and shook Crowley’s shoulder. “_Hide,” _he hissed, and Crowley looked at him for a split second with wide eyes before he slithered into the grass and vanished. 

And then Gabriel snapped into place precisely where his friend had been laying a moment before, his nose wrinkling. Unimpressed, he looked down at Aziraphale with an expression that made him shudder. 

“Greetings, Aziraphale,” he said promptly, with none of the kindness that humans tended to inflect on their salutations. Purple eyes studied him as though he were a particularly interesting insect.

Aziraphale resisted the urge to scramble to his feet; it wouldn’t do to look like he’d been caught doing something wrong. “Gabriel.” He nodded. The archangel in question raised an eyebrow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“A routine check-in,” the archangel replied formally, though the way his eyes flicked around the scene belied his words. “What _is _that smell, Aziraphale?”

His heart was pounding, but his voice was steady when he answered. “Oh, I’m sure that’s just the tuna salad. Bit of a smelly human dish.”

Gabriel didn’t exactly look convinced. He raised an eyebrow at the two wine glasses on the blanket. “Dining with someone?”

“I was expecting to meet a human contact for some information about a local cult,” Aziraphale lied smoothly, glad that the glasses were empty. He suspected that it should trouble him that he was getting so good at this, but he felt nothing but relief when Gabriel nodded. “They were a no-show, unfortunately. I was just packing up.”

“Perhaps that’s better. It wouldn’t look right to be mingling so casually,” he said evenly. He smiled then, all teeth. “And how goes the battle for good? Thwarting the wiles of the adversary?” 

The question was perhaps a bit too knowing, and Aziraphale tried to look casual as he shrugged. “It’s a daily fight. My demon counterpart here on earth is quite the wily one – gives as good as he gets, most days.” He hurried on to another subject when Gabriel opened his mouth to question him. “Did you know that there’s a nunnery that has opened right down the street from here? They’re doing all kinds of lovely charity work. Just the other day I had the chance to bless –”

Gabriel had evidently lost interest in what he was saying because he was checking his watch with a vaguely unimpressed look on his face. “Right. Carry on, then,” he interrupted, waving his hand quickly. Before he took his leave, he fixed the angel with a look. “I hope you’ll be getting in shape for the coming war,” he said, looking down at Aziraphale’s paunch meaningfully. “Won’t be long now. Expect to hear from us soon.” 

He snapped his fingers and was gone as quickly as he came.

Aziraphale all but collapsed, the breath whooshing out of him in a great gust, and he wiped the sweat from his face with a shaking hand. 

“Wily, huh?”

Crowley was ginning at him, his sunglasses reflecting the sunlight in a flash as he poofed back into his human form. “Gotta say, _that’s_ flattering –”

“He would have killed you.” Aziraphale snapped the words, anger lighting him up from the inside at Crowley’s blasé attitude. He was _done _pretending that it was alright that they were doing this. “Would have _smote_ you. To ash!”

Crowley’s mouth snapped shut. He frowned. “I’m fine, Aziraphale.”

“This time!” Aziraphale’s heart was pounding in his chest. He felt dizzy as he stood up and began cramming the picnic supplies in the basket. “_This_ time, you were fine. I’ll not have your death on my hands!” He struggled to fold the blanket correctly, eyes blurring. “I should leave. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Crowley scrambled up in a panic. “No – Angel, wait –”

Aziraphale ignored him, his hands shaking so much that he finally just made a frustrated noise and snapped his fingers so that the uncooperative blanket folded itself back into the basket. He fixed a glare on the demon, stopping him mid-sentence. “Risky enough that we spend so much time in the same place with Warlock. It’s foolish to push this any farther, don’t you see?”

Crowley’s lips pressed together and when the angel turned around to hurry away from the demon he felt like he was leaving a part of something crucial behind him. 

“... I’ll see you Monday, then, Angel,” he heard Crowley mutter, and it took everything in him not to turn around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Aziraphale... sweet baby, that's never going to work. Don't forget to comment!


	4. Chapter 4

Several months went by without them exchanging so much as a word. 

It wasn’t that Crowley hadn’t tried. He’d come to the estate Monday and greeted Aziraphale as normal, a cocksure grin on his face – but it had melted when Aziraphale only nodded at him coldly. 

He couldn’t continue this friendship. It was selfish, to say the least - they were already risking so much by interfering with the boy. How could he justify pushing further? He’d risk Crowley’s life just to take pleasure in his company?

No. He had to cut him off. So every time Crowley tried to greet him, or sidle into conversation, or even walked into the same room as him, Aziraphale met him like a gust of chilly wind until Crowley got the hint. And the first time Crowley avoided his gaze and retreated on his own it should have brought Aziraphale a great deal of relief. 

But he felt nothing but regret. 

The day was cold and the first snow of the season had descended upon the grounds early in the afternoon. Aziraphale, at first, had ignored the growing worry in his stomach - Crowley would be _fine, _he knew better than to risk his corporation by venturing into the elements, as cold-blooded as he was. But the gnawing unease grew its teeth longer and longer until Aziraphale broke and decided he would offer to walk Crowley to his car. He could miracle the air around them into warmth, at least. 

But when he went to escort the demon, he was nowhere to be found. His search within the manor only brought him to Warlock. The boy was on the rug in the living-room, surrounded by toys and books – his parents, as usual, were elsewhere on the grounds, leaving their child to his own devices. 

“Hello, Brother Francis,” the boy greeted him happily, running over a plastic horse with a plastic truck. 

“Yes, hello child,” he said distractedly, trying not to let the wanton murder of toy equines bother him. “Have you seen your nanny? I’d like to walk her to her car - the ice is very slippery.”

Warlock looked at him strangely. “What do you mean? Nanny left before you.”

If angels could get goosebumps, Aziraphale would have felt them prickle along his spine and neck in that instant. “She - into the _snow_?”

The child frowned, turning back to his toys. “Duh. How else would she get home?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment. Had Crowley really tried to brave the weather? They both knew that he wasn’t able to function very well in the cold, that he would be leaving himself vulnerable to all kinds of things. 

It was his fault. Crowley would never have done this before, but now, after Aziraphale had rejected him, perhaps the demon had thought that the angel would no longer help him, would no longer keep him warm as he had so many times in the past. He’d fostered distance between them to keep Crowley safe, but it seemed he may have achieved the opposite. 

He was outside in the yard before he knew it, heart in his throat as his eyes scanned the landscape blanketed in several inches of white powder that glittered even in the evening. His breath escaped him in puffs of vapor which increased in volume and frequency the longer he searched. 

Thankfully, the falling snow had lessened, and he was quickly able to find a trail of footprints that lead toward Crowley’s Bentley. It was clear that he hadn’t quite made it, because soon the footprints began to stagger and grow uneven. 

A pile of dark clothes, halfway in a snowdrift, made him panic all the more, because the only time Crowley didn’t miracle his clothes into another plane was if he was incapacitated against his will. 

Sure enough, there was a small snake curled into the reams of fabric. Aziraphale stared at him for a beat and a half and then sprung into action, furtively glancing around to be sure there were no witnesses. 

“Hold on, hold on,” he muttered to himself, hands shaking as he unbuttoned his jacket and pulled up his shirt. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before he was curling the demon into the warmth of his stomach and chest. He pulled the jacket back around himself and wrapped his arms around that; Crowley’s scales were ice cold and Aziraphale shivered, willing heat into his corporation. 

He nearly blessed Crowley into warmth, and then yanked his hands back - he had no idea how the demon’s body might react to angelic influence. Probably not well. He’d tried to heal him once in the past and the effects had been disastrous enough that Crowley hadn’t spoken to him for almost a year. 

With a snap of his fingers he was stumbling into the warmth and safety of the bookshop, and with a thought the furnace was blazing and the fireplace was roaring to life. He nearly tripped in his haste to get to the couch and he wrapped blanket after blanket around himself to insulate the warmth he was producing, praying it would be enough. 

And then, belatedly, prayed that prayers for a demon were not against the rules.

After a moment he caught his breath, and he allowed himself to inspect his charge. His body was still cold, limp and unresponsive in his arms, barely breathing. Aziraphale swallowed and placed Crowley back over his stomach and chest and pressed his hands down over him, a small miracle letting his palms radiate warmth. 

“Come on, Crowley,” he hissed, something sharp in his throat and behind his eyes. “You foolish, foolish demon. Idiot serpent! What were you _thinking?!_”

No response - he ached for Crowley to snap something back at him, to flick out his tongue in that taunting way of his, but there was nothing. 

His wings were disastrously ungroomed when he manifested them, but they were warmer than the blankets and therefore necessary. He wrapped them around himself like a cocoon and pushed his grace into his feathers until they glowed in the dim light of the bookshop, every plume radiating warmth like heating coils. 

It was a tense half hour of this before he felt the demon’s breathing even out and lose its edge of raggedness, and several minutes more before Crowley relaxed completely. What had been an unwilling hibernation had faded into a simple slumber, and Aziraphale let loose a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. His wings slumped down on top of him, muscles shaking. 

He wasn’t strong enough to let go of the demon, even though he could have at this point. He needed the reassurance that Crowley’s gentle breathing provided him. It’d been idiocy to refuse the demon’s company. They’d been friends far too long for Aziraphale to believe that would work. Crowley probably hadn’t actively chosen to risk his life, but the angel knew his self-destructive tendencies tended to increase when Aziraphale wasn’t in the picture.

He’d used a lot of grace, both in teleporting to the bookshop from Warlock’s estate and in heating his wings as he had. He realized this with a sort of dull surprise, heaviness pulling down on his eyelids as his own heart rate slowed to something approaching normal. And with one last sigh, Aziraphale felt himself slip into a deep slumber. 

>><< 

When Crowley woke up, he didn’t immediately open his eyes. Confusion washed over him - why was he waking up? When had he fallen asleep? - and, rather than try and puzzle out the answers, he simply closed his eyes a little bit tighter. He remembered going out into the snow, remembered feeling very tired and sluggish as he’d approached his car… and then there was nothing, a conspicuous gap in his memory. 

It took him a good minute or so to become aware enough to consider his surroundings. Something soft surrounded his back and sides, and his legs were tangled up in blankets, so he supposed he was in his bed even though it felt like he was sitting up. But what made his eyes shoot open was the sound of gentle breathing that was not his own. 

He held his breath. Above him, Aziraphale’s head was leaned back, his mouth open slightly, face soft and pale in the morning sunlight. For a heart-pounding moment, Crowley thought he might have been discorporated - but no, he was breathing. He’d just never seen the angel sleep before. He frowned, rubbed his eyes, looked again. 

His legs were curled over the angel’s lap, his head resting on his chest. So this was a dream! That made sense. He’d never had one like this before, but Aziraphale had featured in many of his dreams of the past. It was the only thing that made sense. The angel had never allowed him this close in their waking moments. Not that he’d _tried_ to get this close. He knew better than that when he was conscious, at least. 

He wriggled a bit to test his boundaries, the soft things at his back sliding over his shoulders and spine and sides, and with a start he realized that Aziraphale had his wings around him like two warm blankets. He swallowed. Hardly dared to look. He was afraid that if he got too worked up he would wake, and this vision of Aziraphale’s soft downy feathers would slide away from him and he’d lose the feeling of safety and warmth they provided. He’d not felt this sort of thing since he’d fallen - it wasn’t as if demons were big on _cuddling. _

He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into the angel’s soft chest, a sigh escaping him. Every moment brought him a new sensation. He could feel the angel’s arms around him, now, one hand flat against his chest and the other cupping the back of his head, could feel the rough fabric of Aziraphale’s trousers against the naked skin of his thighs, could feel the way the blankets wrapped and twisted around his waist and legs. Could feel the warmth of the fireplace.

He couldn’t recall having dreams this vivid before. 

In fact, he couldn’t recall having a dream where he was aware he wasn’t awake… ever. 

Distantly, it began to dawn on him that he might not be dreaming at all. Then it hit him all at once - he was _naked _and Aziraphale was _shirtless _and he was wrapped around the angel like a snake and Aziraphale was sleeping which meant that he’d miracled himself into a state of exhaustion and oh _fuck - _

The snow. He’d gone out into the snow, stubborn and _stupid _and he’d fallen, at some point, and hadn’t been able to force his limbs to move, and then he’d had no limbs at all, and then the white snow had gone black around him and his last thought had been one of regret because he knew he’d be discorporated and it would ruin his all-time record of staying alive and he had no _idea_ when he might be issued a new body. Then he’d thought nothing at all. 

When the feeling returned to his limbs he tried to scramble backward off the angel, terrified that Aziraphale would wake up at any moment and realize what he’d done. But when he leaned back to roll off the couch, a frown pinched to life on the angel’s face and his wings tightened around the demon, drawing him in closer. Crowley sucked in a breath and held it as he felt the angel’s plumes on his neck and sides, felt the muscles in his arms squeeze a bit tighter.

If he didn’t miracle some damn clothes on, he might very well discorporate anyway.

He tried and failed several times to command his shaking fingers to snap, and eventually succeeded in wrapping himself and the angel into something resembling reasonable coverage. He lay still for a long moment and tried to catch his breath. He could feel Aziraphale’s soft shirt against his cheek, his hand in his hair.

The idiot. Aziraphale had been avoiding him for _months, _and now he was holding him like a newborn. The bloody angel had rescued him. He’d probably been a snake when Aziraphale had scooped him up, but now he was back in his normal human corporation and he was struggling to deal with the softness and kindness around him in a way that any rational demon should. To his alarm, he felt something sharp and wet in the back of his eyes, and _bless it all _he was _not _going to bloody cry.

He’d missed his angel, though. It seemed strange to him that he’d gone decades in the past without laying an eye on the blonde, and now a few weeks of tense silence were enough to send him into a tailspin. He wanted nothing more than to stay here with Aziraphale wrapped around him as though he actually wanted to be. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget the fear in Aziraphale’s eyes when Gabriel had appeared, that day in the park - the terror mixed with anger that the angel had sent out in waves when he’d stalked away. Aziraphale wanted to protect him. He knew that. He was grateful, in a distant sort of way, though he’d risk Gabriel’s wrath any day if it meant he could do what he wanted with his angel. 

What made him slide into his snake form and slither out of Aziraphale’s grasp wasn’t fear for himself. It was fear for his friend. The angel seemed convinced that the worst he would face was a demotion if he was caught with the demon, but Crowley knew better. You didn’t fall from heaven for asking questions and still believe that the higher-ups could be reasonable. It’d be one thing for Aziraphale to be found being _nice _to him - that was probably forgivable. But for him to be discovered with the demon in his _arms?_

He knew better than anyone how cruel heaven could be, and he’d never forgive himself if Aziraphale fell from grace because of him. So he shrank out of his friend’s arms and stepped away. 

As much as he knew he should, he couldn’t make himself leave the bookshop. Instead, he sat himself in Aziraphale’s customary armchair, coiled up, and watched the angel sleep. His feathers were in disarray, coiled and fluffed out of place, and Crowley itched to reach across the distance he’d created between them to fix them. He had to clench his hands in his lap to stop himself. Aziraphale had let him touch his wings to save his life, nothing more. It didn’t mean anything.

By the time the angel stirred Crowley had gotten food delivered and had made hot chocolate. He hoped this would be enough of a peace offering to keep Aziraphale from being too angry with him, both for his idiocy with the snow and for sticking around after. He braced himself when the angel blinked awake and looked around, waiting for the inevitable shouting match. 

But when Aziraphale’s eyes landed on him, there was nothing but relief in his gaze. He slumped in his seat and closed his eyes for a second, a small smile on his face. “Crowley. I’m so glad you’re alright.”

There was something thick in Crowley’s throat but he swallowed around it, silence heavy on his shoulders. Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, his eyes light and kind and everything that Crowley’s weren’t. “My dear, what were you _thinking_?”

Crowley sneered. He felt a bit like a petulant child when he crossed his arms and looked away, suddenly extremely aware that he didn’t have his glasses. No doubt they were in a half-melted pile of snow in the yard. “I didn’t ask for your help, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sighed and tucked his wings back into his corporation in a measured sort of way, leaning forward on the couch so he could straighten his clothes. “No, you didn’t. I wish you had.”

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms,” he hissed. 

Aziraphale, surprisingly, looked guilty. He pressed his lips together. “I was… I tried to find you to walk you to your car, last night,” he admitted, his mouth twisting to the side. “But you’d already gone.”

Crowley swallowed. “Way to stick to your guns, Angel.” His voice wasn’t coming out quite as snide as he wanted. 

The angel smiled a bit sadly. “Well, I couldn’t very well let you freeze.”

“You were doing a pretty good job of freezing me out yourself,” he snapped. Okay, he was angry. He’d tried to pretend that he wasn’t, tried to give the angel his space, but he couldn’t have it both ways. 

The angel examined his hands. “Crowley… you know how dangerous it is for us to spend time together.”

“I don’t _care,_” he said. “It’s never stopped you before.”

“But it should have,” Aziraphale said sadly. “It’s selfish of me to endanger you.”

“Then _be_ selfish for once,” he hissed. “I do it all the time. It’s not hard.”

Aziraphale gave him a knowing look. “I wouldn’t describe you as selfish.”

Crowley didn’t agree, and he didn’t think that the angel would either if he knew how long he’d stayed in his arms. But he just rolled his eyes and slithered off the chair. Aziraphale’s face softened when he pushed the takeout into his soft hands and took a seat on the coffee table, snapping his fingers to transport the hot cocoa from the kitchen to his hands. 

“Can you let this little hero routine go?” Crowley asked, something fragile in the question. “Otherwise I’m going to have to keep throwing myself in the snow, and that’s not gonna be fun for either of us. Frostbite is bound to happen sooner or later. Some of my more important bits might get lost.”

Aziraphale did his best to frown at Crowley, but the expression wavered on his face. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Master bargainer, me.”

The angel swallowed. “Promise me you’ll be more careful?”

Crowley looked him up and down, remembering the soft brush of feathers against skin. Wishing with everything he had that he could crawl back into the angel’s arms and curl up and sleep for a century. 

He pushed a warm cup into the angel’s other hand. “Yeah, alright.”


	5. Chapter 5

The apocalypse had not happened. 

This equally true and impossible fact was still tumbling around inside the angel’s head, even after he and Crowley had posed as one another and faced down their respective head offices. It had been almost a week since then, and they were both starting to relax a bit – they’d heard nothing from either side. Not even a hint of a threat. 

Crowley still had not left the bookshop, though. He claimed it was for his own protection, that Aziraphale would have an easier time taking down a duke of hell with his angelic self than Crowley would, but Aziraphale knew he was sticking around for the exact opposite reason. He’d seen the hate in Crowley’s eyes when he’d spoken of Gabriel – seen the startling presence of bloodlust in the glare of someone he’d come to know as a rather tame demon. 

He didn’t say this, though. Privately, he was simply happy to have Crowley’s company. The reason didn’t particularly matter, and he sort of hoped Crowley would continue to feel protective over him. All too quickly, he’d grown used to having him there at all hours – it was even comforting to know that he was asleep upstairs while the angel kept himself busy down below.

Presently, Crowley was pacing. Bored. Aziraphale had been absorbed in a book for the better part of the day, and Crowley was becoming less and less subtle about wanting his attention. The third time that he felt the demon peer over his shoulder, he placed a bookmark in the pages in an even sort of way and closed the book. 

“Can I help you, dear boy?”

Immediately, Crowley proceeded to pretend like he hadn’t been vying for Aziraphale’s attention. He flopped on the couch and sprawled out, glaring at the angel with a mixture of practiced boredom and a hint of affection that he couldn’t quite hide. “We’ve been cooped up in here for ages, Angel. My demonic wiles are gettin’ a little jumpy. What say you to a little stroll around the block? You can bless a few humans here, I can curse some poor sods there.”

Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “Crowley, dear, I’d really rather not have you cursing my neighbors.”

The demon rolled his eyes – which Aziraphale could see, remarkably, due to the lack of his trademark sunglasses. At some point during the last week, he’d abandoned them while they were alone in the flat together, feeling comfortable enough to do so. Previously, Aziraphale could only remember him doing that while uproariously drunk; ergo, they were making progress. He’d not mentioned it. Crowley was notoriously sensitive about that sort of thing, and Aziraphale didn’t want to bring attention to it.

“I’ll only curse passerby, then,” the demon argued, sounding quite reasonable. “Small stuff, Angel.”

“It’s _raining_.”

“I’ll carry the bloody _umbrella_, then.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but as usual it didn’t take much for Crowley to convince him. Truthfully, he’d been itching to bless a bit. “Oh, very well. How about some tea, first, to keep us warm?”

Smug, Crowley flicked his hands out dramatically. “Deal.”

Aziraphale bustled around the kitchen in an unhurried sort of way, boiling water and rummaging around for the particular tea he wanted. He took too long, apparently, because once again he found Crowley slinking around him, tapping his fingers here, peering disdainfully there. 

“Couldn’t you just miracle a cup, Angel?” he finally complained, sprawling his upper half on the counter dramatically with a pitiful expression on his face. “So sloooow.”

Aziraphale felt a fond smile try and twitch onto his mouth, but he huffed. “You know very well I like to do things the old fashioned way when I can,” he replied stiffly. “You’re in the way, foul serpent.” There was no heat behind it.

Crowley let loose a very put-upon sigh and scooted over minutely. Aziraphale finally let the smile bleed onto his face and patted Crowley’s back in a mollifying sort of way. “It shan’t take long, my dear.”

Crowley stiffened under his hand and suddenly Aziraphale realized just how close they were – close enough for the angel’s stomach to have brushed Crowley’s hip. He thought of all the times he’d touched Crowley between his shoulders – only he was always in his snake form. They could pretend it was something other than what it was, then. Not now. He started to move away. 

Then he didn’t. 

With the pressure of heaven and hell gone, it was easy to dream. Easy to wonder whether the demon wanted the things Aziraphale suspected he did. And, judging by the way Crowley turned his head and met the angel’s eyes with a swallow…

He’d given it a lot of thought. Crowley cared about him more than he did any other being – he knew this to his very core. The demon’s affection was not up for debate. He also understood that Crowley loved him, in this way at least – he could sense it, after all. No, the _question_ was whether the demon felt that _other_ kind of love; that pesky, heart-pounding butterfly-stomach kind of love that Aziraphale felt for him. The kind of love that made you want to touch the enemy exactly where you shouldn’t.

He thought so. To be wrong would be disastrous, but Aziraphale was tired of playing it safe. Tired of worrying and waiting and wondering. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder anymore. Didn’t have to spend days and nights worrying that he’d gone too far, that Crowley would be punished by hell for fraternization that Aziraphale had encouraged, or that Gabriel or Uriel or Michael would find him and smite him from the very earth. 

They were free, now. And no harm would come to his friend. 

Crowley cleared his throat and straightened and Aziraphale’s hand slid from the space between his shoulders. But he didn’t move away. Just stared down, yellow eyes meeting blue. Aziraphale could see the demon’s pulse in his neck. 

The angel licked his lips. Crowley’s eyes darted to them and didn’t move away.

He took a deep breath. Steeled his nerve. Angled his head up. 

Moved forward. 

Their lips lingered together for half an eternity and no time at all. 

And then all he could do was blink, because Crowley had disappeared. 

No, not quite. He was still here, just a bit smaller than he’d been a moment ago. He hit the wooden floor with a slap and Aziraphale looked down just in time to see Crowley’s tiny snake body slither between two large tomes on a nearby bookcase, tail flicking out of sight. 

“Crowley?” he asked in a quavery voice. “My dear?”

There was a sick sensation deep in his stomach, a surety that he’d just damaged his relationship with the demon beyond repair. He’d been so _sure _that Crowley had cared for him in precisely the same way that Aziraphale cared for the demon – that specific, heart fluttering way – but perhaps not. Perhaps Crowley was offended that he’d thought so. Or perhaps he’d missed his chance after years and years of rejections, perhaps Crowley wanted that once upon a time but couldn’t take it now.

Perhaps that type of affection wasn’t something the demon was built for.

He felt a touch dizzy. Reaching out to stabilize himself on the very shelf that Crowley had slithered into, he swallowed down nausea. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I thought – well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Please, Crowley, forgive me. We can pretend that never happened.”

He forced himself to stop talking because he felt his tone was growing a bit hysterical. There was nothing but silence in the bookshop, the distant patter of rain the only noise he could detect. The books were hard against his back when he slid down to land on the floor, head in his hands. 

“Sorry,” he whispered once more, and unsurprisingly he felt a hot sharpness pricking the back of his eyes. 

He sat there for a while until the tears came in earnest, sliding down his face beneath his hands and dripping down onto the ridiculous coat he was wearing. He’d been sure to his core that, at some point long ago, Crowley had wanted this. But it seemed that years and years of waiting had been too much for the demon – and who could blame him? Surely, he was fed up with Aziraphale, fed up with his inability to move fast. And now that the angel wanted to, it was far too late. 

Perhaps now would be a good time to take a page from Crowley’s book and sleep off the disappointment and embarrassment he was currently drowning in for a few decades.

A hand on his own made him jump. 

Crowley pulled down the protection from his face slowly, his yellow eyes wide and concerned. “Aziraphale?”

The question was quiet, confused, and more than a little afraid. 

Aziraphale looked away, misery grasping at him and pulling him down – how _dare_ he make his dear Crowley feel those sorts of things? “Forgive me,” he pleaded, voice cracking. He didn’t know what he’d do if Crowley left now. He’d been his best friend for thousands of years – his only friend, really – and he wasn’t quite sure what would be left of him if the demon went away. “It – it was a mistake, and I don’t…”

He couldn’t even dredge up a compelling lie. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Crowley obviously believed him. “A missstake.” The demon repeated his words slowly, tone wilting. His hand loosened on the angel’s, drew away. “Ah.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him sharply. There was something rather like disappointment in the demon’s voice. Something sad. Sure enough, Crowley was examining his hands, a telltale slump to his shoulders that Aziraphale realized he recognized more keenly than was perhaps normal. Recognized from years and years of seeing the same thing, though Crowley had carefully tried to hide it. 

“Unless –”

Golden eyes flicked to his, eyebrows drawn together in a painfully hopeful expression. 

“Well, actually – if I’m being honest,” Aziraphale forced himself to say, leaning away even as he felt hope bloom in his chest, “It was quite intentional on my part. But – if you don’t feel the same –”

The words dried up in his mouth when Crowley’s hand struck out to the angel’s lapel and held him firmly in place. He swallowed thickly, eyes flicking between Aziraphale’s mouth and throat. Lips parted, breath escaping in a short puff, Crowley hesitated, Aziraphale couldn’t look away. 

“Dear?” The angel’s question was soft, and he felt Crowley’s hand spasm around his jacket but the demon didn’t say anything. Couldn’t seem to say anything. His throat bobbed up and down, eyes wide and vulnerable. Scared. Of what, Aziraphale couldn’t say. 

Slowly, Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the demon’s and squeezed just hard enough for Crowley to release him with a spasmodic twitch. He moved Crowley’s hand to his mouth and gently, _ever _so carefully, pressed his mouth to it. 

Crowley shuddered, his eyes closing. He made a _noise_. 

“Was I… was I moving a bit too fast, darling?” The angel’s voice was tentative and ever so kind. 

As an answer, Crowley tipped his face forward and pressed his mouth to the angel’s hand in turn, pressure butterfly-light, and he stayed there for a long while. He drew back after a long time and not nearly long enough, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide. He looked like he’d been caught doing something wrong. 

Terrified of being rejected. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh.” Slowly, a smile spread across his face, honey dripping from a spoon.

Crowley swallowed, his eyes flicking down to the angel’s mouth. “S’not ‘cause I don’t want to,” he said softly. “Just… surprised me. I’m –” He cut himself off, visibly struggling for words.

Aziraphale thought that if he smiled any wider his face might split in two. “So you _do_ want this, then?”

“Of _course_ I want it,” Crowley replied, his voice strained. “For the _love_ of – Angel, I’ve wanted this for bloody _millennia_.” One hand returned to Aziraphale’s face, tentative and light, hesitant and skittering over the skin like he was afraid to break him, and the other gripped the angel’s lapel again with steel fingers and tugged toward himself. The angel laid his palm over Crowley’s and pressed down gently so that the demon’s hand was flat on his cheek. 

Permission. And a plea. 

The kettle screamed. 

They ignored it. 

“I have, too,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing a few times, his mouth trembling. “Is this… is this real?”

Aziraphale felt his eyes begin to water at the raw question, at the fear that permeated the voice of his best friend of centuries. “It is. I’m so sorry I made you wait for me, darling.”

Crowley shivered at the word. His hand, still clutched around Aziraphale’s jacket, began to shake, and the angel decided he’d waited long enough. Moving slowly so that Crowley could pull away if he wanted to, Aziraphale leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the demon and simply held him to his chest.

For half a moment Crowley was frozen, hard as marble. Then he _melted, _his arms snaking around Aziraphale’s middle and holding on for dear life. “_Oh_.” The sound was breathless and weak and Aziraphale would move heaven and earth to hear it again.

“Is this… okay?”

“Yesss.” The confirmation was whispered, as though Crowley was afraid that speaking too loudly would scare him off. “_Yesss_.”

The angel smiled. One hand moved up to curl into the demon’s hair and Crowley whined like he’d injured him, burying his face farther into the angel’s chest. Aziraphale slackened his hand. “Too much? Should I st-“

“Please,” Crowley begged. His voice was wrecked. “_Please_ don’t, Angel.”

His heart grew ten sizes, warm and full inside his chest. “I won’t, darling,” he murmured, returning his grip to the demon’s hair, just firm enough to tug. “What do you need, Crowley?”

The demon shuddered like he’d never been asked that question before – perhaps he hadn’t. His hands formed claws behind the angel’s back, digging into the material against the fear that someone would try and pry him off. “Ngh – What do _I_ –?”

“What can I do to show you how much I love you?”

The swell of love that poured from the demon just then was nearly enough to knock him over, and Crowley made a high, breathless noise as though it had been squeezed out of him. His arms tightened, his jaw clenched. Scales appeared up and down his neck in patches and faded again, only to grow once more as the demon tried to wrangle his emotions. Though it all, Aziraphale simply stroked his hand up and down the demon’s back, ever patient, ever kind. It was the least he could do after all the waiting he’d forced upon Crowley.

“You – you _really_ –?”

“Of course I do.” The words were gentle but firm. “Of course. Dear boy, how could I not? How could I not love you, with how beautiful and wonderful you are?”

Crowley made a strangled sort of noise. “I’m – you’re – I’m not –”

“You _are._”

A breathless, disbelieving laugh against his chest made his affection grow for the demon tenfold and broke his heart in half all at once. Feeling daring, he manifested his wings and wrapped them around the demon and warmed his feathers ever so slightly, remembering the time years and years ago when he’d done the same. Crowley held his breath as the angel’s feathers ghosted over his arms and neck and head.

Moving slowly, hands steadier than he felt, Aziraphale tipped Crowley’s head back just enough to see his eyes. His pupils were wide and dark and they drank the angel in deeply.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s briefly, then again, then again, lingering a little longer each time. When he took Crowley’s lip into his teeth and bit down ever so slightly the demon moaned into his mouth and his hands skittered up to the angel’s wings and hovered around their bases, yearning and afraid, not quite touching.

Crowley pulled back just enough to speak, leaving their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them opened their eyes. “’Zira, you – you don’t have to,” he struggled to say, voice shaking enough that Aziraphale knew he was nearly crying. “You’re just – you’re too _good, _and I’m…”

“Please let me do this, Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently. “Let me show you.”

The demon’s hands tightened around his wings.

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to change the rating because of this chapter. Oops!

It was still novel to wake up to his angel. 

It shouldn’t have been, at this point – after all, it’d been months since that first kiss. Almost a year. But he never could shake the feeling of surprise and sudden pleasure when he opened his eyes to see Aziraphale curled next to him or around him, his face serene and impossibly soft in sleep, his mouth open slightly. The angel had been skeptical, at first, that slumber would be to his liking, but to Crowley’s pleasure he’d found it to be another vice he quite enjoyed. 

Of course, Aziraphale delighted in informing him that it was only because he was sleeping with _Crowley _that the process was something he luxuriated in. He’d smiled in that infuriatingly sweet way of his when the demon had reddened and stuttered. 

He was happy. In a broad sense. 

But he was still himself, and happiness, to Crowley, was something constantly chased after, something he was always working not to lose. And so his joy faded a bit as he lay there, creeping tendrils of a familiar darkness choking out the simple joy of watching his angel sleep. Still, even with the balming presence of his angel, he still sometimes felt a little too close to darkness, a little too empty. A little too much like he was falling.

He swallowed. He knew he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve the angel’s soft and uncomplicated love, the closest he’d come to Her ineffable light since the fall. But Aziraphale insisted on giving it to him anyway, day after day. As much as he knew the angel didn’t want to hurt him, he couldn’t help but wonder when Aziraphale would tire of it all and leave him once and for all. He wasn’t exactly a joy to be around. 

This was one of those days where he thought the end of his relationship might be sooner rather than later. 

He closed his eyes, sighing as he let the feeling wash over him. He’d never truly escape this, he thought. It was punishment. The hollow feeling of love lost, the agony of the absence of the warm light that had filled him in his earliest days… it would never fade. Not completely. 

As if his negativity was sounding from the angel’s absurdly old gramophone, Aziraphale stirred. Before his eyes had even opened his hand was reaching for the demon’s and Crowley took it gladly, something sticking in his throat as he felt Aziraphale’s warm palm around his own.

“Did you sleep alright, darling?” The question was soft, a little scratchy in Aziraphale’s morning voice that Crowley so adored. He met the angel’s eyes for an answer, and his beautiful mouth twisted in sympathy. He laid a hand over Crowley’s cheek, thumb covering the snake tattoo with firm pressure. A breath hitched in the demon’s throat.

The angel smiled at him gently. By now, he was familiar with Crowley’s moods. Before all this, the demon would have been caught dead before allowing the angel to see him in this state, but it was rather hard to avoid now that they were spending nearly every waking moment together. 

The first time it had happened, he’d tried to play it off. Tried to go through the day like everything was normal. But when the angel had reached out to hold his hand, as he often did these days, Crowley had flinched back. 

It’d taken hours to explain, in halting and hissing words, that it wasn’t  _ Aziraphale _ that he was afraid of. That it was the very concept of being loved when he didn’t deserve it that shook him, made him sure he’d be punished for even daring to look at the angel with damned eyes and black wings. 

Made him sure that  _ Aziraphale _ would be punished as well, for looking back.

Aziraphale’s response to this had been to gather him in his arms and hold him tightly and whisper kind things to him until Crowley’s eyes had been doing some very un-demonlike things. And from that point forward, any time that Crowley showed hints of that old melancholy, Aziraphale did his best to shower him with as much love as he could. 

Sometimes Crowley handled this well. Sometimes he did not, and Aziraphale ended up with an armful of coils and scales. He was getting better at telling which form Crowley needed to be in during days like this. “Could I tempt you into your snake form while you nap, dear? I have to open the bookshop for a bit, but customers are ever so reluctant to ask me for things when you’re draped over my shoulders.”

Crowley snorted, rolling over onto his stomach. They both knew that he dealt with his emotions a lot better when he was in his serpentine form and that he would undoubtedly feel more at peace if he spent a few hours that way. He was well aware he was being played like a fiddle – but he didn’t protest. Aziraphale knew what he needed. 

And so it didn’t take much coaxing. The angel blinked and Crowley was a long, slick serpent, flicking his tongue out to taste the air. He chose to manifest a bit larger than normal – the goal was to intimidate the humans, after all, and he couldn’t very well do that as a two-foot squiggle.

As his scales settled over him, he felt the intensity of his emotions fade a bit to the background. It was easy to give in to instinct, to let himself be a reptile through and through and seek out the warmth of Aziraphale. He flicked his tongue out again, satisfaction washing over him as he tasted Aziraphale’s scent, which had steadily begun to mix perfectly with his own. His animal brain enjoyed that. 

His demon brain did too, admittedly. 

The angel smiled brilliantly and offered his arm. He slithered up it without hesitation, wrapping his coils around Aziraphale till his head was perched next to the angel’s ear. Aziraphale hummed happily and snapped his fingers, miracling himself into his day-clothes so that he wouldn’t have to disturb Crowley’s perch. 

They went downstairs together. He rather liked riding on Aziraphale’s shoulders – it was a nice excuse to be close to his angel, one he’d used many times in the past. 

Not that he needed one anymore. Old habits, and all that.

“Thank you, dear. Ever so nice of you.” The angel giggled at the irritated tongue flick on his ear. “Oh, alright. Very naughty of you, wanting to scare my customers. Quite nefarious.” 

Crowley hissed in a pleased sort of way, and Aziraphale flipped the sign on the door to open jovially. There wasn’t much fear that he’d be forced into selling anything that day, Crowley thought – he was right in saying that the good people of London tended to steer clear of the great black snake in the bookshop. 

Sure enough, a few hours later Crowley scared off the first man brave enough to wander inside with a simple yawn in his direction. The man blanched at the sight of his fangs and turned on his heel, scurrying back out the door. Crowley sniggered quietly. 

“No biting, wily serpent,” Aziraphale said sternly. His tone was belied by his hand, which was sliding down Crowley’s spine tenderly.

“_You, or the cussstomersss?_” Crowley hissed cheekily. Aziraphale reddened a bit but didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer as he rearranged books. 

By the day’s end, Crowley was in much better spirits, having had the great pleasure of terrifying Aziraphale’s minuscule customer base. When Aziraphale flipped the sign to closed once again, Crowley slithered down from his shoulders and was suddenly at his side with all four limbs. He wasn’t really interested in letting go, though, so he slipped his arm through the angel’s and leaned against him. 

Aziraphale made a content little noise and patted him on the side. “Will you stay the night, Crowley?”

This produced an eye roll. After all, he’d been sleeping here for months now. Aziraphale still insisted on asking him every time. Crowley thought he just liked to hear it. “Of course, Angel.” 

“Splendid. I’ll fetch us some wine.” The angel led him over to the couch and squeezed his hand before gently extraditing himself, and bustled out of the room. Crowley smiled in an entirely too soft way as he curled into the sofa. 

When Aziraphale returned, he ignored his customary armchair and instead snuggled onto the couch next to Crowley after depositing the wine on the table. The demon obligingly raised his arm and the angel burrowed into his side, sighing contentedly as he laid his head against Crowley’s chest. He was warm. Crowley resisted the urge to return to being a snake so that he could more efficiently wrap himself around the angel, settling instead with curling his hand around Aziraphale’s soft side and sliding his palm into the gaps between his buttons so he could lay it over the angel’s chest, a few layers of clothing still separating their skin. He wanted to curl into him like he had that evening after the snow, but he resisted.

The angel giggled. “Naughty,” he taunted gently, but he didn’t move away. Crowley still luxuriated in the fact that Aziraphale allowed this, allowed the demon to touch him – brought the concept out now and again, a shiny thing to turn over in his hands when he had a moment alone. It was more than he ever thought he’d have. 

Aziraphale turned his head and pressed a soft kiss into the space between Crowley’s jaw and neck and he shivered, hand curling a bit as he held the angel tighter. Something low and hot pooled in his gut – a feeling he’d grown familiar with, nowadays. Not that he’d acted on it. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale was interested in that. He was still bloody terrified of moving too fast, and even though the angel had initiated all kinds of touch Crowley hadn’t ever taken the lead. He was content enough to follow. 

Or he should be, at least. 

“I’ve been thinking,” the angel said, happily oblivious, and Crowley bit back a sigh. Just like Aziraphale to twist him up and then want a _conversation. _“What would you say to a bit of a move?”

This was enough to banish all thoughts of making an effort from Crowley’s brain. He leaned back, looking down at the angel. “A move?” he asked blankly. “What does that mean?”

Aziraphale looked around the shop a bit wistfully. “Well, dear boy. You know how much I love this bookshop. But I rather think this part of my life has run its course.”

Crowley swallowed. His heart was pounding. “You want to _leave?”_

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’d keep the shop here, of course. But I think I’d like something a little quieter. 

The demon felt something cold and harsh squeezing his chest. He’d known it was too good to be true. He supposed he should be thankful for the time he’d had with the angel, but he couldn’t quite find it inside his demonic heart to be grateful. Not after he’d had a taste of what he’d craved for so long. Unthinkingly, he pressed his palm into Aziraphale’s chest and then, just as quickly, moved back. It wouldn’t due to crowd him. That was probably why he was leaving in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Could I still visit?”

The angel’s face went blank for a split second, and Crowley wanted to kick himself. _Too fast, too fast -_

“Crowley, for someone so clever you can be awfully dense,” he said after a moment, and his hand was wrapping around the demon’s and despite his anxiety he felt himself relax at the contact. “I meant that we could _both _move, of course. Together. Move _in_ together.”

His mouth was dry. “T… together?” he asked stupidly. True, he’d been spending almost all of his time with Aziraphale these days. He’d given up on the illusion of his independence almost immediately. Still, he had his flat. He returned there every so often to yell at his plants and miracle away the scant bit of dust that may have collected. 

He would have slithered into the bookshop in a heartbeat if he’d thought Aziraphale would like that. But the angel hadn’t offered and he hadn’t asked. He’d figured that Aziraphale wanted his space to remain his own, in some small way. And perhaps that was for the best – he didn’t want Aziraphale to grow tired of him, after all.

The angel mistook his shock for disinterest. His face fell. “Oh. Nevermind, dear boy. Forget I mentioned it. I’m perfectly content to-”

“Where were you thinking?”

The angel’s blue eyes flickered to his and crinkled at the edges. “You aren’t opposed to it, then?”

He snorted. “You want to know if I’m opposed to having you all to myself? No, Angel. I’m not _opposed_.”

Aziraphale blushed, and Crowley would have smirked if he hadn’t also been red in the face. He squeezed the angel’s hand. “But,” he found himself speaking, wishing that he wasn’t, “it wouldn’t be a hardship for you?” He made himself say the words, looking around at the shelves of Aziraphale’s most loved things. “Leaving all this behind?”

Aziraphale looked up at him through those bloody long eyelashes and smiled. “Not to me, dearest. Not if it’s with you.”

>><<

Aziraphale fell in love with the cottage that Crowley had picked out to show him immediately. The home was warm old fashioned and just stuffy enough for the angel’s liking – and it was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of London for the both of them. 

“But do _you _like it, dear?” the angel asked, hand trailing on the trim next to the doorway. He had hearts in his eyes as he took in the warm brick and worn wood, but he still looked at Crowley with concern. “It’s not exactly... your style.”

Crowley just smiled. The expression felt less odd on his face than it had a year ago – he was bound to get used to it eventually. “You’d be surprised, Angel.”

Aziraphale connected the dots as soon as they arrived in the back garden. The yard was lush and green already, and Crowley’s hands itched with potential. He could do so much with the space that the inordinately large yard provided; he already had plans. 

The angel lit up at the sight of Crowley’s excitement. “Crowley, it’s _perfect.” _

And so, with just a few small miracles and a lot of cash exchanged, the Tadfield cottage was their new home. 

Aziraphale set to work inside almost instantly, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he miracled shelves and sofas and tables into the space. Crowley just lounged and enjoyed the show – Aziraphale was a treat to look at when he fixated on something. Sometimes the angel would turn to him and ask for advice, but his responses were of the useless sort – “Whatever you like, Angel,” – so he would just end up doing what he wanted anyway. By the time a week had passed Aziraphale had transformed their cottage into a cozy home for the both of them, with numerous bookshelves and plenty of space for Crowley’s plants. 

Through it all, Aziraphale showered him with love. Crowley was not used to this, not yet – there were centuries of cold distance to make up for, and every time the angel reached out he was surprised. He supposed that the feeling would wear off, one of these days, but it hadn’t yet. 

The garden came together painfully slowly. He would pace around the lawn for hours at a time, planning out what he wanted to plant and where he wanted to plant it. Then he would get to work, get a few things in the ground, and return inside – only to come out a few hours later and start all over again. When he’d done this a few times too many, Aziraphale had followed him out with a book and a lemonade, and whenever Crowley would begin to get testy over the placement of a leaf or a tree, the angel would be sure to remark how lovely he thought the demon’s choices were, how wonderful and lush the garden was looking. 

Crowley tried to be annoyed that Aziraphale kept cooing praises at the damn plants, but he couldn’t. Not when it made something warm grow roots in his chest, not when the angel could look at a bloom that was decidedly _less _than perfect and still find beauty in it. 

He was well aware that he was projecting, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it. Even to himself. 

The evenings were the best, in Crowley’s mind. He’d snap his fingers to get a fire going and they would curl up together on the sofa – Aziraphale would read and Crowley would simply bask. Here and there, the angel would take it a step further, stretching up to peck a kiss on the demon, but they’d never moved past that. And Crowley had successfully hidden the fact that he might want to. 

Until that night. 

They’d had a productive day, for them anyway – Aziraphale had tried a new bakery that he’d discovered a town over and Crowley had threatened some peach trees into sprouting blossoms. As usual, the angel had curled into his side and was reading something or another, his brows drawn together in concentration. Crowley had been staring at him for far too long when he looked up and caught the demon’s eye. 

The book shut with a gentle thump. “Something on your mind, dear?”

Crowley blinked, a blush creeping onto his face. “Er – no. I was just. Um,” he stuttered intelligently. “Ignore me, Angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “I would never.”

Crowley swallowed as he looked down at the angel, his eyes all blue and wide and innocent. “Please,” Aziraphale insisted gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He shook his head. “S’nothing,” he muttered. “Go back to reading-”

The words dried in his mouth when the angel reached up and curled a hand around his face and tugged him down for a quick kiss. Crowley looked up and away and coughed, but before he did, he caught the knowing sparkle in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Crowley, dear,” he said sweetly, “is there something you’d like?”

_ You. I’d like you, _ is what he didn’t say, though the hungry expression on his face probably gave it away anyway. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Erm – no?” he said weakly. 

“You know I don’t like it when you lie to me,” Aziraphale said sternly. He tapped his fingers on Crowley’s chin lightly, and _shit _that sends heat shooting down to his gut. “If there’s something you want, you only need to ask.”

He licked his lips. “I want – um. I want –” He couldn’t make himself say it. His face felt like it might be on fire. “But I’m not sure you want it too.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. “You being an angel, and all. Your lot don’t really…”

Aziraphale gave him a bemused smile. “My dear, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” he began delicately, bringing his other hand to Crowley’s opposite cheek and smoothing the skin there, “but I’m not really like most of my lot. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His mouth was a bit too dry to agree, so he just nodded stupidly. “So what is it that you desire?”

Crowley held his breath and, halting and starting in fits, turned his body so he was facing the angel and brought his hands up to Aziraphale’s shirt. They rested on the buttons, fingers weak and hesitant. “I – I sort of – I want –” 

His voice was shaking. Distantly, he was embarrassed, but right now all he could feel was fear. Fear that Aziraphale would shove him off, would be disgusted by the lust he was feeling. After all, he was a being of love – and in Crowley’s admittedly limited experience, love and lust didn’t exactly intertwine most of the time. It seemed like the latter was more often a product of hate. And when Aziraphale’s hands moved away from his face he could have hit himself for exposing the ugliness of his desire. 

He was looking down, so he was surprised when Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around his own and encouraged his aborted movement. The first few snaps of his jacket gave way with deafening clicks and Crowley’s heart all but stopped. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you wanted this at all,” the angel said with a chuckle. “Glad to know I’m not the only one harboring carnal thoughts.”

“You – you mean, you want to? Too?” the demon stuttered. His brain was short-circuiting a bit, so he could only watch dumbly as Aziraphale guided his hands down the jacket and finished unbuttoning it. 

“Of course,” he replied, pushing Crowley’s hands to his soft hips and resting them there so he could take over, his deft fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt with dizzying speed. “How could I not?” And Crowley certainly wasn’t imagining the undercurrent of sultriness to the angel’s voice when he said, “Dear, there are so very many things I’d like to try with you.”

And then he was shirtless and Crowley could do nothing but gape like a fish, his face as red as his hair and his heart pounding wildly in his chest despite the fact that it didn’t need to do anything of the sort. Aziraphale’s hands returned to his own and guided them back up to his chest. They hovered there, just above the skin.

“Am I – can I _touch?_” Crowley choked, still refusing to meet the angel’s eyes. “You can say no. Please say no if you don’t want me to.”

“My dear, I can think of nothing else I want more right now.”

And so, with the same hesitance one might use to pet a baby bird, Crowley rested his hands on the angel’s body and closed his eyes and simply soaked in the warmth of him, his breath stuttering in his chest. The angel made a low humming noise that shot straight through his gut. “That feels wonderful,” he murmured. “Do continue.”

So he did. He allowed his hands to trail from the angel’s chest to his shoulders and down his arms, from his arms to his ribs, from his ribs to his back and up again to his neck. They were shaking, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind – he just kept making those same pleased humming noises that made Crowley’s stomach do flips. Eventually, he rested his hands on the angel’s hips once more, his breathing harsh as he took a moment to process. 

Aziraphale’s hand in his hair made him suck in a sharp breath, and his eyes flickered up to meet the angel’s. His pupils were wide, cheeks rosy. 

“May I?” He gestured at the demon’s clothes. After a split second of wide-eyed shock, Crowley nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Aziraphale grinned. 

Not bothering with the traditional method, as Crowley had, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley found himself quite naked from the waist up. He shivered in the cool air, but he wasn’t cold for long – the angel’s hands were on him then, and was it _him _making that noise? 

And Aziraphale was on top of him, then, his hands trailing down the demon’s body, his mouth following, and Crowley was positive that he was going to discorporate any moment now. As it was, when Aziraphale’s mouth formed a shape on his neck he whimpered and blushed when he felt scales appear there. 

“Sssorry,” he hissed. But the angel shook his head and looked at him with so much fucking love that Crowley thought he’d burn from the force of it. 

“Don’t apologize, darling. I quite like it,” he reassured the demon. Then his hands were trailing a bit lower and lower still and then Crowley froze because the angel’s hands were unbuttoning his trousers and he was sliding down the couch and -

His hands snaked out to grab the angel’s wrists, and Aziraphale looked up at him with concern. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to – don’t have to do that,” he panted. “Don’t do that.”

He looked puzzled. “But I want to, dear. I want to make you feel good.”

Crowley’s hand shook as he rubbed it over his face. “You shouldn’t – _I_ should be the one to do that for _you_.”

Aziraphale looked at him with a level of tenderness that almost made him angry. Gently, he extracted his wrists from the demon’s grip and sidled back up until their faces were at the same level, and he pressed a kiss to Crowley’s mouth. Only when he was red-faced and panting did the angel lean back and stare down at him with a light in his eyes. 

“Do you want to please me, Crowley?”

The question sent a spark of heat through him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “God – Satan – _Someone_, yes. More than _anything.” _

He was rewarded with an indulgent smile. “Oh, good. Then you’ll allow me to do as I wish with you?”

He felt like someone was tearing him from the inside out. “_Fuck, _Aziraphale, you can’t just _say things _like that.”

“But will you?” he insisted, a degree of seriousness in his voice that was enough to make Crowley meet his eyes. He swallowed, then nodded, and the angel had a victorious gleam in his eye. “Wonderful.” 

Crowley made a breathless, disbelieving noise that could have been a laugh. 

Another smile was the angel’s only response. Then he was back at Crowley’s pants, his clever hands freeing his erection from his stupidly tight trousers, and with a calculated twinkle in his eye he was taking Crowley down with an obscene noise and _fuck. _

He reached down unthinkingly to push the angel off of him, but Aziraphale glared up at him with demanding eyes and he swallowed and halted the motion mid-reach.

He could hardly stand to look down, to see his love all flushed and bent over him like he was something worth worshiping, something worth desiring. But Aziraphale didn’t seem to have a problem looking at him. He blinked slowly, contentment in his gaze as he bobbed up and down, and Crowley had to fist his hands behind his head to keep from yanking him back up for a kiss. 

Aziraphale had asked for this, after all, and Crowley would give it to him even if he didn’t think he deserved it. And the longer Aziraphale went, the closer he got until he -

He was going to – he was gonna – 

“_Zira,” _he hissed. “I’m gonna –”

He just made a low humming noise that pushed Crowley even closer, then bobbed down and _swallowed _and Crowley was coming with a shout and his wings manifested themselves instantly, wrapping around them both, and Aziraphale didn’t yank his head back like Crowley expected him to – instead, he rode out the demon’s orgasm and _licked _him clean afterward -

“So good for me,” he murmured, and Crowley could have broken into a dozen pieces then except Aziraphale was kissing him again and Crowley could taste himself in the angel’s mouth and Aziraphale’s hands were in his wings, clever and strong and he arched into the angel with a keen and kissed him back. 

Twice more Aziraphale brought him to completion, once with his hands in his wings and again with his mouth, and by the time the angel was done Crowley was a shaking, sweating heap. Aziraphale just wrapped him up in his arms and held him there, stroked a hand through his damp hair and through the feathers at the base of his wings. It could have been hours before Crowley was aware enough to blink up at the angel and paw at his trousers, but Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Not tonight, dear,” he said gently, shushing Crowley’s exhausted protests with another kiss. “There will be time enough for that. All the time in the world.”

And for once in his life, Crowley took the words at face value. 

He closed his eyes and let love wash over him like a warm blanket, content in the sudden and sure knowledge that his angel was there, and he always would be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Don't forget to comment and let me know what you thought!


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